


tell me again (that we'll be lovers & friends)

by capmackie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, The Author Waxing Poetic about Sam's Smile for 3K Words, prom!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 15:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20211937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capmackie/pseuds/capmackie
Summary: The Prom!Sambucky fic no one asked for.





	tell me again (that we'll be lovers & friends)

Bucky should’ve known better.

In reality, he does know better. He knows that prom is not somewhere he wants to be; knows that without a shadow of a doubt, actually. Knows it’s all superficial and just another reason for teens to be cajoled into spending exuberant amounts of money to impress people they’ll most likely never see again. Most of all, it’s incredibly pretentious.

Today’s the big day and Bucky’s been irritated since he woke up, no, actually ever since he shelled out a hundred bucks for his ticket. But as the realization dawned on him that he’ll have to play nice with the same people who’ve never spoken more than two words to him in all four years, the irritation reared it’s ugly head again. It peaked as his mom snapped countless photos, pushing him to smile and pose. It’s all too much and Bucky feels a headache forming at the base of his skull.

At her insistence, she places a rose on his lapel, sticking him with the needle in the process. Bucky’s certain that’s a sign from the universe that going to prom is a bad idea.

***

Bucky, standing in an extravagant banquet room, so over the top, he kinda wants to hurl, quickly realizes that going to his prom was, indeed, a bad idea.

The theme is ‘Winter Wonderland’, which is bad enough but considering it’s currently June, makes the idea even worse. There’s bouquets of carnations dressing the tables, fake snow litters the ground. White curtains, adorned with sparkles, line the floor to ceiling windows, along with hundreds of LED strings lights attached to the ceiling. There’s a balloon arch bracketing the entrance, a sign welcoming the students to ‘Brooklyn High Prom 2019’ hangs off of it. Further inside, he can see the DJ booth. His principal’s on the one’s and two’s and he almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous the sight is, almost.

He feels unease down to his very core, certain that the night’ll end in one of two ways: some drunk asshole picking a fight with him (again) or him standing on the outskirts of the party, isolated, as he finds himself more often than not.

Bucky revels in his loneliness; having realized early on that the only person he can rely on, the only person he can trust is himself. But those thoughts are easier to drink down when Bucky’s minding his own business, holed up in his room. In those moments, his loneliness covers him like a blanket, heavy yet comforting. But here, in a place designed for social interaction, Bucky feels confined by his loneliness, feels it magnified times a thousand.

Coming here was a terrible idea.

The possibility of saying ‘fuck it’, turning on his heels and going the fuck home is lighting every nerve in his body on fire. He could do it; no one’s seen him come in and if they did, they definitely don’t give a damn about him leaving. In the blink of an eye, he can be back home, can ignore the disappointing look his mother will give him, can be in his own space thanking whatever deity out there that his high school experience is almost over.

_He’s about to do it._

Bucky’s so close to leaving that relief starts to flood his body when his eyes fall on someone he honestly wishes he never met sometimes.

In hindsight, he understands why he’s here, at prom surrounded by people he doesn’t like, wearing an ill-fitting suit and uncomfortable shoes. It’s the same reason why he does almost anything; the same reason that turns Bucky pliant with just a smile. And that reason is on the dance floor, milly-rocking his life away, in a fitted plum suit with paisley accents.

Sam.

***

If Bucky could go back in time to the first day he and Sam met, he probably would’ve just stayed his ass in bed. But alas, missing the first day of the new school year, especially after missing about three months of your junior year, is frowned upon. For some reason.

The hustle and bustle of kids running to classes as the bell rings or ignoring the bell altogether to continue their conversations in the hall is all too familiar to Bucky. But now it feels different, feels overwhelming.

But Bucky knows the scenario isn’t different, it’s only him who’s changed; the last time he was in this hall he had a flesh and blood arm on his left and now... he doesn’t. Anxiety begins to creep up his spine, his breath shortening out and his head starting to spin. Steadying himself with his forehead placed on his locker, the coolness grounding him, Bucky’s brought back to reality just as the second late bell begins to ring.

Pulling out his schedule, he focuses his attention to more tangible dangers, like being late to his first class and having to sit in the front because all of the slackers have taken the back seats. Adjusting his backpack then his jacket to cover more of his left arm, he grabs his textbooks and sets off to AP Human Geography.

As the teacher assigns partners for the course-long project, Bucky slumps further down in his seat, willing the floor to just swallow him whole. He looks around the room and cringes when he sees who he could possibly be paired with.

But then the teacher is speaking to Bucky, telling him there’s an odd number of students in the class and Bucky’s welcome to join an existing group or work by himself. Before he can give his answer, one Sam Wilson comes barreling through the door, throwing the teacher an apologetic smile, clamoring to find the first empty seat.

There are three things Bucky instantly becomes hyper-aware of at that moment:

1) Sam’s arrival now means there’s an even number of students in the class (fuck)

2) the only open seat is right next to him

3) Sam has the most gorgeous smile Bucky’s ever seen

***

Throughout the semester, they gradually become friends. Bucky’s convinced that it’s only because of the project but when Sam’s walking home with him after they realize they’re actually neighbors _(who would’ve thought?) _and when Sam’s saving him a seat at the lunch table where the popular kids sit _(Bucky declines every day, Sam doesn’t stop inviting him)_ or when Sam remembers to walk on the right of Bucky _(never the left)_ and when Sam never questions those moods Bucky sometimes finds himself in _(the ones he can’t shake, the ones that pull him under so deeply he can only hear tires screeching and glass cracking and the sound of metal on metal and -)_, the line between general politeness and something more blurs so much, Bucky sometimes isn’t sure that it’s still there.

It’s that blurry line that Bucky finds himself tiptoeing on when one day—he and Sam are on his front porch, soaking in the fact that they’re finally _done_—Sam asks the big question.

“So, who are you taking to prom?”

Bucky looks up so fast, he almost catches whiplash. Prom hadn’t even been a thought in his mind. He’s focused on more important things like college (and Sam), getting a fresh start in a new city (and Sam) and the threat of Sallie Mae looming over his shoulders (andddd Sam).

The confusion must register on his face because Sam is now laughing and smiling and Bucky _hates_ when he does that. Because Sam doesn’t just laugh and he doesn’t just smile. Sam doesn’t just _do_ anything, his personality is too bold, too vivacious to do anything half-assed.

When he smiles, it starts at his mouth, full lips curling upwards, that stupid gap in between his front teeth making an appearance. Then it lifts to his eyes, making them go big, the brown in the irises shining ever so brightly. Sam’s smile is enough to light up continents, can feed power to third world countries if he chooses to. The only thing greater in the world than seeing Sam smile is making Sam smile and Bucky reckons it’s the same as looking into the sun for too long; the heat of the rays warming him, making him feel special. Then, inevitably, it starts to burn; the too harsh rays focused on him intensely, making Bucky squirm.

Bucky’s been on both sides of the equation. He’s seen Sam throw that megawatt smile at someone, has had that smile on _him_ and Bucky’s not sure which scenario makes his stomach drops the fastest.

With a flick of his right hand, Bucky dismisses the idea of going to something as silly as his high school prom, listing off a dozen of other things he would rather do with his time.

But Sam smiles at him, lighting Bucky insides on fire, and promises him it’ll be fun, that Sam will be there to make it fun and that he won’t leave his side until he’s sure that Bucky is indeed having fun. Bucky wants to say no with every fiber of his being but he just can’t; not when Sam’s looking at him adoringly, smiling a little and then wider and wider until the smile completely takes over his face, as he sees Bucky slowly coming around to the idea of going to prom.

In the end, Bucky is grumbling something about Sam being an asshole and when Sam laughs his signature laugh, Bucky has to turn his head away lest Sam will see him smiling too.

***

Prom is in full swing by the time Bucky’s arrived and is finished with having his existential crisis.

The DJ’s just switched records and a slow song is drifting through the speakers, teens coupling up to slow dance together. It’s so cliché, Bucky’s eyes almost roll out of his head. But then Sam notices him, face plastered with one of his signature smiles and starts to walk his way.

Bucky’s just about to give Sam grief for the patterned shirt he has the audacity to wear in public when Sam nods toward a secluded corner, beckoning Bucky to follow him. As soon as they’re away from the watchful eyes of teachers and parent chaperones, Sam pulls out a silver flask.

“It’s the only way to enjoy these things”, Sam answers when Bucky shoots him a questioning glance.

Bucky’s about to argue that this isn’t a good idea, that they are both underaged, that authority figures are _right there_, but most importantly, that he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle himself around Sam if he’s intoxicated. But Sam’s smiling, looking at Bucky through his lashes and it makes Bucky’s heart lurch and the words Bucky wants to spit out get stuck on his tongue. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s taking the flask and the taste of Jack Daniels is coursing through him, swallowing his protests and inhibitions all the same.

It’s only after Bucky is six whiskey swigs deep that he finally realizes he’s made a mistake. Somehow they’re on the dance floor, right in the middle of the crowd, being pushed and pulled as the crowd jumps around to some trap song.

But Sam is keeping his promise of not leaving Bucky’s side and it’s so kind and noble, just like he is.

Bucky can see the questioning glances Sam’s other friends are giving him, all the while ignoring the glares directed toward Bucky himself.

But Sam doesn’t play favorites, treats everyone with respect, even moody and pouty and sour people who insist on self-imposed isolation. Sam still befriends them, still walks with them home after school, still makes time for them, still respect their boundaries, still supports them even when they don’t see anything worthy within themselves.

Six whiskey swigs later, standing in a banquet room that looks more like a wedding than a prom, surrounded by people he hates, in an ill-fitting suit and uncomfortable shoes, Bucky Barnes realizes he’s in love with Samuel Wilson. Realizes that he’s been in love with Sam for a while now, actually.

Bucky’s ready for his flight or fight instincts to kick in, waits for the telltale signs of his anxiety to flare up but nothing happens. His classmates are continuing to do whatever the hell they were doing before Bucky’s came to his grand realization. The world, shockingly, continues to spin on its axis. It’s almost like Bucky finally coming to terms with his feelings for Sam is normal.

Honestly, who would’ve thought?

Maybe it’s the alcohol coursing through him that makes him feel so lax or maybe it’s the weight that’s finally been lifted off of his shoulders, but Bucky feels positively giddy at the notion that he loves Sam. Feels the endorphins multiply when the thoughts cross his mind that he should tell Sam _right now_ how he feels.

There’s a small voice in the back of his brain begging him to reconsider; begs him to realize that someone like Sam could never and would never love someone like Bucky back. Bucky with all of his flaws and all of his darkness; it would be selfish to ask someone like Sam, a literal ray of sunshine to love him back, the voice says. To pull Sam into Bucky’s own patented abyss of despair is just cruel.

But then he looks up and he and Sam are now making eye contact again and despite everything that’s telling his mind no, Bucky decides to tell his heart yes.

He’s turning to face Sam before his mind can catch up and repeat how terrible of an idea this is. But Sam’s smiling at him,_ always smiling at him_ and like everything else in the past school year, it wills Bucky to believe in himself. Gives Bucky the courage to let go, to relax, to...

What happens next is an out-of-body experience and Bucky isn’t even sure what is happening but his body is on auto-pilot and he’s reaching out to grab at Sam’s jacket and pull him into a fervent kiss.

He doesn’t know how long he stays wrapped up around Sam, his flesh hand cradling the back of Sam’s head and his metal one fisting the man’s jacket. What he does know is that he never wants it to end, knows that he never wants to pull away from the warmth radiating from Sam’s mouth on his, from Sam’s entire body pressed up against his.

Truth be told, it’s always been Sam, it’s been Sam since the very first moment Bucky saw him. Bucky knew he was enamored by his geography partner when Sam first sat next to him or the first time Sam spoke to him or the time Sam did literally anything. He could list off hundreds of examples of when he had started to fall in love, but the only thing of importance right now is Sam, in his arms.

Faintly, Bucky can here the other students around him react to the scene that has just played out in from of them. Bucky can practically feel their weighted gazes on his back but he doesn’t care. The only thing on his mind is communicating to Sam how much he wants to be his.

Bucky’s so wrapped up in his own emotions that he doesn’t feel the gentle hand on his lower back, leading him back to the corner where the silver flask is still neatly hidden from watchful eyes.

“Did you mean it?”, Sam questions.

Bucky’s trying to read his expression but he can’t.

For the first time since he’s known him, he doesn’t see a smile on Sam’s face. Panic starts to set in at the idea that Bucky has ruined his only friendship over a stupid kiss.

_What in the hell was he thinking?_

“I’m serious Buck, talk to me please”, Sam is pleading and Bucky hates it, hates seeing any other emotion on that beautiful face but pure, unadulterated joy.

“I - fuck Sam- I just want to be with you”, Bucky stammers out. If he would’ve known how the night was gonna go, he would’ve prepared a speech but alas. It’s just him and his brain trying to formulate a coherent sentence that explains just how much Bucky needs Sam.

“You are my friend - shit - my best friend, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t want anything more than that”, Bucky starts.

The floodgates are opening and he can’t help himself now, every emotion he’s ever felt are all rushing to the surface. He doesn’t even know what to say, doesn’t know how to make it coherent, he just knows that he’s gotta make Sam understand.

Has to make him understand that what he feels is so intense, he can’t even express himself eloquently. Has to make Sam understand he only accepted admission to NYU cause that’s where Sam is going, has to make him understand how blind his mind is at times, how he can’t see anyone else but Sam.

But he just can’t get the damn words out.

It frustrates Bucky that he’s right on the precipice but can’t tip over fully, his own mind sabotaging him. But he hopes that Sam will understand him and his non-verbal cues, hopes that Sam doesn’t think he’s an idiot, Bucky just _hopes_, okay? He needs this to work, damn it because the man still wrapped up in his arms is Bucky’s endgame, there will never be anyone else.

Sam initiates the next kiss and it’s nothing like the one before. This is one is soft and exploring; this kiss feels like acceptance, feels like understanding, like Sam heard everything Bucky’s been desperately trying to say.

Bucky presses their foreheads together and exhales shakily, groans thinking about all of the trouble he’s caused tonight. He’s just outed himself in front of a few of his classmates but the voice in his head, always springing to action whenever Bucky fucks up, is surprisingly quiet and Bucky counts that as a win. Cuts himself some slack for the first time in a long time.

Sam pulls back first, a mischievous grin on his face, and plants a kiss in the middle of Bucky’s forehead.

“I knew you loved me”, he laughs and Bucky agrees.

He’s known for a while now.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: capmackie


End file.
